


Hideaway

by AdamantSteve



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Birthday, Birthday Surprises, Clint has a bad day, M/M, Rimming, vent shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-24 09:48:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantSteve/pseuds/AdamantSteve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Clint's birthday, and he's looking forward to another awesome day of Phil pampering him like he has done every one of Clint's birthdays these past few years. But things don't seem to go quite as planned...</p><p>(changed the rating and added some tags due to chapter two being all porn)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raiining](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiining/gifts).



> For Raiining, fellow birthday triplet :) 
> 
> Thanks for story help from Vertiga and FeatheredSchist and as always, thanks to my awesome beta, Dunicha :)

 

 

Clint wakes slowly, which is a luxury he’s often not afforded since he started living with crack-of-dawn-rising Phil. He rolls to the other side of the bed to bury his face in Phil’s cool, vacated pillow to cling to sleep a moment longer in Phil’s scent. 

“Morning, Birthday Boy,” comes a voice from the door, and Clint rolls over far enough to crack one eye open and spy Phil still in the undershirt and pants he slept in, looking gloriously rumpled.

 

Clint whines in the back of his throat and makes lazy grabbyhands in Phil’s direction, who, since today of all days they can be late, comes over to be pulled back into bed.

They make out til Phil has to practically wrestle Clint off of him. “The coffee’ll burn,” he warns, and Clint begrudgingly lets go, padding out to the kitchen after him, unbothered by his unrepentant morning wood. 

 

The little dining table is laid out with a tablecloth, the good plates, cutlery and what appears to be freshly squeezed orange juice, with a bright purple orchid (which is new) in the middle of it all. Phil takes the coffee pot off the stove (he has his ways of doing things, most of which don’t involve drinking straight out of coffee machine carafes) and pours it into Clint’s ‘Archers do it better’ mug and his own ‘Hawkeye’s Boyfriend’ mug (an incredibly imaginative gift from Clint), passing them over with a nod to the table. 

“Go sit. I’m making eggs and bacon and toast. Is that alright?”

Clint beams at him as he sits down, clasping his mug and feeling the aroma seeping into his brain. “I feel like I should make a joke about sausage but I’m too sleepy to think of one.”

Phil snorts and pulls the grill pan out to flip the bacon over - it’s healthier and makes it crispier, he says - tossing a dishcloth over his shoulder as he straightens back up. Clint leans over to pull the blanket off the back of the couch, wrapping it around himself with one hand whilst still clutching the coffee like it’s the elixir that it is. Phil plates up and sits, grinning when Clint laughs out loud at his breakfast - it’s arranged in a smiley face. 

 

They’re both too tired to talk much, but the companionable silence is as sweet and warm as the coffee. “Let’s ditch work,” he says when their plates are clean, “and go back to bed.”

Phil groans. “I would love to, but there’s so much on my agenda today. Drinks later, though.”

Clint pouts. “I don’t wanna drink with other people, I wanna drink with you.”

“Well, I’ll be there.”

“You know what I mean.”

Clint’s foot has found it’s way to the side of Phil’s chair, who squeezes it in his hand. “I know, but we’ll have the weekend. Just us, we can do whatever you want.”

Clint hums and wiggles his toes before Phil catches them. “Wanna shower together?” They grin at each other. 

 

Clint didn’t used to care about birthdays. They were fractious times back when his parents were alive and then the orphanage was pretty pathetic about them. One year he got a banana for a present. He didn’t really see the point of the Big Deal people made over the passing of another year. _Another year closer to the grave_ , Trickshot used to ominously say when some kid or other rolled up to the circus with twenty friends in tow and a couple of harried looking parents telling them to stop touching things. They’d always have that oily sheen of having had too much sugar and too much excitement for one day. Clint was good at picking them out - they were the best for the sideshows, easily able to beg their parents to pleeeease win them that stuffed pig, pleeeeease get me a goldfish. He used to feed them lines; ‘Ask ‘em if they love you,’ he’d say, and it worked more often than not, sometimes just cause the parents were impressed at his moxie. 

 

The nomad lifestyle hadn’t exactly been the right setting for birthday celebrations, and Clint often forgot his age, having to correct himself when he was picking people up in bars or getting arrested, people shaking their heads at him and thinking him desperately sad for not having realised he’d grown another year older. 

 

But then SHIELD. And Phil. And surprisingly, Natasha. She liked to bake but didn’t like anyone knowing she liked it, so would make huge, ridiculous cakes and pretend she didn’t know where they’d come from. Just for Clint at first, but for Phil after she’d been there a year, and the team after New York, too. 

 

It wasn’t just cake, it was a whole big deal for Phil, even before they’d gotten together. He always brought in cupcakes or donuts for his agents on their birthday, and bought them a round at the bar after work if he could, and he did the same for Clint. But then they’d grown closer and closer, and Phil had been so excited about Clint’s birthday, chattering about how much fun he had planned for it. The first year after they got together, Clint mostly just put up with all the pampering, getting more enjoyment out of Phil’s fussing over him than anything else. He didn’t need _things_ , or food really, but having all that focus on him for a whole day was the biggest treat he could have asked for. 

 

But then he’d grown to enjoy the presents and the food too, because Phil’s warmth was so infused with every little gift and morsel of ‘birthday food’ that birthdays weren’t the cold disappointment of something that was merely _supposed_ to be special, they truly were. 

 

-

 

But alas, work is calling. They shower til the water starts to run cold, Phil on his knees to suck Clint’s cock with Clint standing just so to make sure the water doesn’t run into his eyes. Phil’s knees click as he stands back up and Clint kneels down to kiss each one before kissing up his damp thighs to reciprocate, finally awake enough to make that sausage joke, but Phil stops him and reminds him they really will be late if Clint continues down that path.

 

They drive in and go their separate ways, Phil into a meeting and Clint going down to the range.

 

“Closed for refurbishment,” says the sign taped to the door. The window has a dust sheet over it, and the viewing gallery is closed too. Clint can’t see in and can’t find anyone to tell him what’s going on. Who’s refurbishing the range? Why wasn’t he consulted? He was consulted on the last refit, why not this one? He actually had some ideas, too, but apparently no one thought it was important to ask the best shot in the entire organisation about whatever the hell’s going on. 

 

He goes up to sit in Phil’s office to wait and ask him, since if anyone knows what’s going on, Phil ought to. And why hadn’t he told Clint?! Perhaps he doesn’t know. Clint sits there for ten minutes before he gets bored and goes back down to the range to check out who’s in there and what the hell they think they’re doing. But the door is locked from the inside. All manner of bangs and scrapes and clanks drift out of it and no one heeds his angry pounding on the door. 

 

Goddamn it.

 

Clint grumbles his way up to the HR department to see if anyone there can help, but they love forms more than anyone else at SHIELD, and after twenty minutes of being passed from pillar to post and refusing to take any paperwork, he gets fed up and stomps back down to the seventh floor janitor’s closet to jump up into his place in the vents. But it’s locked for the first time ever. Clint curses and goes down to the fifth floor disabled bathroom, but that’s locked too. 

 

This is bullshit. Clint goes down to the basement to get into the vents through the boiler room, and actually manages to get into the (filthy) extraction vent, but then old Bob the ancient engineer hustles him out of there with the sharp end of a broom. 

He drops back down and makes up an excuse that Bob rolls his long-suffering eyes at before shooing him out of the boiler room promising he’ll tell ‘that greenhorn kid’ (Phil) on him. 

 

Phil’s _still_ in his meeting, so Clint takes a shower and changes into sweats, though after the rather trying ordeal of Vent-Gate he has no interest in actually working out, instead opting to go back up to HR and commandeer a desk to get working on some of his backlog of paperwork. 

 

Paperwork. On his birthday. 

 

Still, he figures, drinks this evening and Phil to himself after that. It could be worse. 

 

He gets a text from Phil. _Meeting’s running long, not sure I can make lunch. Sorry x_

Clint slams his phone down on the desk with a little more force than is strictly necessary, making Arnie sitting on the desk in front of his jump and make a little noise of surprise. “Sorry,” Clint mumbles, sighing and getting back to the mess of black and white squiggles on the screen in front of him. 

 

He actually manages to get most of his forms done by the time his stomach starts growling at him, looking at the clock in the corner of his screen to find it’s already after 3 and the cafeteria will now be shut. He shoots off a text to Phil and logs out, grabbing his jacket from Phil’s still-empty office to go off-base to buy a sandwich. It’s only when he’s standing in line at Bagel Parade that he realises he doesn’t actually have any cash, buying four in the end just to cover the minimum card charge. He eats three of them in quick succession because Phil’s not there to stop him. He therefore makes himself feel sick.

 

He goes back and after finishing off the last of his paperwork and digesting all those bagels, decides to head back down to the gym, checking in on the still mystery-shrouded range on the way. 

 

_what the fuck is going on with the range, btw?_

 

_I know, I only found out today. Let’s go upstate at the weekend and you can shoot as much as you like._

 

Clint doesn’t respond to that text, since he’s not sure quite how to communicate the sulk he’s in. He turns on his ipod and runs three and a half miles before the battery runs out. He’s not sure when he became such a creature of habit but it’s not the _same_ without music pounding in his ears so he wipes off the treadmill and showers again. It’s at that point he realises there’s only his filthy work clothes or the sweaty gym clothes to wear, and actually shakes a fist at the sky in impotent outrage. 

 

In gross pre-worn sweats, Clint goes and lays on Phil’s couch to stare at the ceiling and wait for him to be done. Maybe they can skip drinks tonight and just go home. 

 

He waits. And waits. And it starts to get dark. 

_where are you?!_

_we’ll be done soon. Go have drinks!_

 

Right, cause Clint wants to go drinking on his own. On his birthday. He texts Tony, who doesn’t reply. Steve, who doesn’t reply. Natasha even though she’s incommunicado (it’s his birthday) to no reply. No one else in the team responds, nor does anyone in the rest of Clint’s usual suspects of hang-out friends. 

_c’mon why do you hate me_

 

Just when Clint’s truly given up hope and trying to decide what takeout to order to eat in - alone - Phil texts again.

_meeting’s done. Meet at the range?_

Finally.

Clint grabs his jacket and jogs down the stairs to the range, still shrouded with dust sheets but the sign on the door says ‘Archers only’. Clint gingerly prods open the door.

 

The range has been completely revamped. Iron Man is standing in the middle of everything with his faceplate down, and he flies up and spins before landing and taking a bow. Phil, Nick, Natasha, Pepper, Bruce and Steve are all standing to one side, clapping, but Clint can’t stop looking. There’s a holographic set of moving targets in an alcove to one corner of the range, another set of physical moving targets in another. A set of lazers seem to be making targets over everything else in usual Tony Stark style, all flash but with the engineering to back it up.

 

“What the hell, guys?”

“Happy birthday, buddy,” Tony says, and Phil comes over to press a sweet kiss to Clint’s cheek, a gesture that’s all the more exciting for being on-premises - Phil’s pretty strict about that. “I gave Tony the sketches you kept drawing out,” Phil admits. “Though we had a little input too,” adds Steve with Natasha nodding in the background. 

 

There’s a huge cake decorated like a purple and white target, no doubt baked in secret by Natasha, though the chances of her admitting that are slim. Clint blows out the candles and cusses them all out for lying to him all day. Phil ducks his head in apology - he’s terrible at lying to Clint and had to avoid him to keep from spilling everything. “Mean,” Clint scolds. “On my birthday!” 

“Is it alright? I wanted it to be a surprise.” 

“Phil, it’s amazing! God, I was so mad that someone was dicking around with the range without even asking for my thoughts on it! But you did! You did cause you love me.”

Phil chuckles and presses his head against Clint’s shoulder. “I do love you.” 

 

Tony shows everyone around the new features of the range and reveals that it took the whole team 72 hours to put everything in place, working through the weekend and all of today. Clint thanks everyone in turn before portioning out the cake (delicious) and testing out a few of the new features with his beloved bow. It gets late and Phil coaxes him out of there to go have drinks and be social, promising that come tomorrow he’ll have all day to play with his new toy. 

 

They heap into the usual old bar, the one run by a couple of ex-SHiELD agents and therefore perfect for post-mission decompression without fear of accidental eavesdropping by people without clearance. 

“So you were in the range all day, huh? Hauling things around and crap?”

“Well,” Phil admits, “I was mostly constructing the mini-targets.”

“Mini targets?!” 

“Crap! We didn’t show him the mini-targets!” Tony cries, clapping a hand on both their shoulders. He’s still in the armour, swearing that it ‘wouldn’t be decent’ to strip off to his ‘underthings’, so the clap on the shoulder is heavy. 

“Best present, ever,” Clint raises his bottle and clinks it with everyone in range before taking a long draw and finishing it. 

 

“You hungry?” Phil asks, and Clint shrugs no. “Too much cake,” he declares. He did eat quite a lot of it after all. He leans in to whisper into Phil’s ear behind a cupped hand, “Though I could maybe go for some sausage...” 

“I think I have some of that,” Phil muses as he sits back, the bar lights camouflaging the slight tint in his cheeks..

 

They say their goodbyes and head out to the car, but when they get to the intersection they usually turn off on, Phil keeps going. “I uh, forgot a file,” he mutters, not meeting Clint’s eye. 

“What?”

“Just uh, gotta grab a thing,” he glances at Clint once before looking back to the road, obviously lying. Clint decides to let it go. When he was lying before, it worked out pretty good for Clint.

 

“A thing, you say.”

“Hmm.”

 

They get back to SHIELD and Clint follows Phil back up to his office and waits for him to rifle through his drawer for the ‘thing’ he had to come back for. He finds something and straightens up, placing a neatly wrapped box on the desk before taking off his jacket.

“Are we gonna have office sex?” Clint asks, suddenly all too interested in what might be about to happen. Office sex is pretty much number one on Clint’s Phil Phantasies (he wrote it down like that once and it made Phil roll his eyes so hard the name stuck). But Phil shakes his head, though he’s uncuffing his shirt now, so Clint figures he can be forgiven the misunderstanding.

 

“Should I be getting naked too?” Clint’s still in his crappy, sweaty sweats, and Phil looks him over before shaking his head. “Nope. Come with me.” 

 

Phil takes Clint by the hand and leads him to the mop closet Clint was locked out of earlier. Clint gasps. “Did you do something to my... uh, thing?” He doesn’t say nest.

Phil looks guilty and Clint’s about to exclaim, “What?!” but Phil puts a finger to his lips before replacing it with a kiss. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

 

Phil pulls the grate away and gestures for Clint to hop up into it. Clint’s long known that Phil knows about this little habit of his, but this is the first time they’ve done it together, so he feels a little self-conscious as he hoists himself into the vent.

It’s a short shuffle along the vent and around the corner before pale light meets Clint’s eyes and he pops out next to the little platform above the elevator shafts that’s been home to half a dozen books, a couple of cushions and some other dumb bits of crap of Clint’s since he first figured out the layout of the place. 

 

It’s transformed. Strings of fairy lights are strung over a mattress that fits perfectly into place on the platform that’s furnished with bright purple sheets and dark blue pillows with pink Hs embroidered on them. There’s a low wall that’s been built around the free edge of the platform and Clint chuckles when he notices it, looking at Phil when he slides out of the vent beside him with all the love he’s not sure he could ever express properly. 

 

“A wall, really?”

“You can’t be that mad, I got you a bed.”

“Pretty big bed, it looks like.” 

“Lemme show you,” 

Phil takes his hand as if there’s really anywhere to be led when the platform is maybe ten feet square, but they sit down on the bed and Phil picks up one of the pillows to move it and lift the lid on a locked box behind it. Inside is a tiny drinks cooler and Clint’s books and pictures from before. “I figured you’d want to put them however you wanted to.”

“It’s perfect, Phil.”

Phil ducks his head to hide his wide grin. “I.. if you want to change it or you want me to put it back how it was I don’t mind, I just thought-”

“No! Are you kidding?”

“It’s just, it’s your little hideaway. I don’t want to encroach on it.”

Clint shakes his head. “Are you nuts? I’ve been wondering how to get you up here as it is.”

Phil just lets the smile he’s been trying to chase from his face bloom instead. 

 

Clint leans in to kiss that beautiful grin. “You realise I’m never coming out of here now, right?”

“So long as I know you’re not going to fall the hell off anymore.”

“Psh, fall. I’m Hawkeye, I only fall when I mean to.”

 

Clint grins and lifts the pillow next to him, finding a similar box, though this one has a lock. He shoots Phil a questioning look…

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

"If there's lube in here I'm gonna think you've been replaced by an alien shapeshifter," Clint says, eyeing Phil, who doesn't quite meet his gaze. He reaches into his inside pocket and holds out a little key with a bow on it.

"Phillip Coulson are you serious?"

 

Phil grins, obviously scandalised himself. He shrugs and Clint takes the key, opens the box to find... a shallow tray with a small remote control on it.

"Oh. What is this?"

Phil presses one of the buttons on it and nothing happens, presses another and the vent they crawled through snaps shut. "Gotta be secure," he murmurs, nudging against gaping Clint as he pulls the bottom of the compartment free to reveal what Clint had expected to find.

 

It's all purple, which Clint shouldn't be so surprised about, but still. There's a whole box of toys waiting for him, and Phil turns pink as Clint takes it all in.

There's lube, of course, and a couple different sized buttplugs, one of those weird shaped dildos that's meant to stimulate your prostate and another couple of regular cock-shaped ones. There's a long strip of condoms too, which Clint pulls out with a frown; they haven't used condoms in a long time now. "Easy clean up," Phil shrugs, his mouth twisted to one side.

 

"You put all this here? For me? For us?"

"Happy birthday?"

Clint kisses him then, because Phil looking like he's not sure he's made the right decision is something so rare and so precious he can't stop himself. "I love you," he tells him. "I love you so goddamn much you ridiculous man."

 

"So you don't mind?"

"If this means what I think it means," Clint gestures to the box, "then no, I don't mind one bit."

"You wanna try it out?"

 

The elevator closest to them whirrs into action, and they watch as it descends from the doorway next to them down to the second floor. "They can't hear us, right?" Phil asks, and he's all nervous energy and flushed cheeks.

"No way, babe," Clint replies, even though he's not actually sure. But this, well this is something he's wanted for ever. A few confused elevator passengers is a price he's willing to pay for on-premises naked Phil.

 

"You locked the doors?" Clint asks, crowding up to Phil and putting one knee very firmly between Phil's on the mattress where they're kneeling. Phil nods and grins, a little breathless, and jesus, he's hard as a goddamn rock.

 

"Never knew you had a sex-in-public thing," Clint says, and Phil holds onto his shoulders as Clint flicks open a few buttons of his shirt to get a hand against his skin. "All those times I've tried to blow you in your office. I had no idea how much you wanted it."

"Of course I wanted it." Phil's voice is as breathy as Clint's ever heard it, and he pulls the tails of his shirt out of his pants to keep undoing it, getting his hands on more of his warm smooth skin. "Are you kidding?"

 

And that's just it, that Phil can keep surprising him over and over again, he's such a goddamn enigma sometimes. Clint kisses him til he's even more breathless, and then he pulls back to drink in the sight of Phil's half-undone shirt and tented pants, thinking for a moment he should do it back up and just get his cock free, live out that particular fantasy. "Are we gonna do this again?" he asks, because if so, he has options.

Phil looks surprised and scandalised again when he nods yes, "If you want."

"Oh, I want," Clint replies, surging forward to kiss him some more and rub a hand over the crotch of Phil's pants.

 

They're in SHIELD, right where they work, and for all that Clint's pushed and begged and pleaded to lock Phil's office and do it right there on the desk, he never really expected for anything close to it to happen. How's he ever going to get any work done now? Or travel in the elevator knowing they had sex right beside it?

 

Clint gets Phil's belt undone and pushes his pants down before bending to suck wet circles into the fabric of his underwear. Phil gingerly puts his hands on Clint's shoulders again before Clint grabs one to put on his neck instead, pulling Phil's cock out of his pants but not taking them off, pleased to get him like this, so completely compromised and unkempt.

 

"This isn't," Phil stops and swallows, his fingers flinching on the back of Clint's neck, "I was gonna do all this, to you. You don't have to - it's your birthday."

 

Clint runs the pointed tip of his tongue over the head of Phil's cock as he turns his head up to look at him. "This is what I want."

Phil shivers beneath him and offers a wide eyed smile and Clint goes back to it, carefully and gradually wetting every inch of Phil's cock before slowly doing it again. Dragging everything out as much as he possibly can and waiting to see if Phil'll get rougher with him, but he doesn't, not even on the fourth or fifth passes of Clint's slow tongue over his frenulum.

On the sixth pass, Phil finally tugs at the short hairs on the back of Clint's head. "What are you trying to do to me?" he moans, and that's what Clint was after. He smirks up and presses a kiss to the base of Phil's cock in reply. Phil likes when Clint teases him, even if he pretends not to. He likes the play of the whole thing - Clint winding him up more and more til all the sensibility's been licked out of him. He pulls hard on Clint's hair to pull him up and bite at his mouth as they roll over, Phil kicking off his trousers and his shoes without even looking where they're going.

 

Then he's tearing at Clint's clothes roughly, pushing his arms above his head and lightly biting his way back down to his neck, his chest, his belly. He stops when he gets to Clint's cock and looks back up at him. "Do you want to come now or after?"

Clint's dick jumps up towards Phil's mouth and he curls a hand around the base of it to keep it still. "After," Clint replies, though then Phil swallows him whole anyway, and he's not sure why he asked.

He can feel Phil's throat working around his cock before he pulls off and starts sucking just the tip, running his tongue around and around and around. Clint's hands aren't tied, but they feel good where Phil put them, and part of him wonders what else is in that box, imagines being handcuffed or tied up here while Phil works away quietly in his office til he's ready to come back and use Clint as he sees fit. That he might stretch Clint and plug him first so he'll always be ready.

 

Thoughts like that won't help Clint from coming. He says Phil's name, but it comes out high pitched and more wrecked than he'd realised it would. "I said after," he says when Phil looks up, eyes a little watery from deep-throating him, and just that sight is enough to make him jump again in Phil's hand.

 

"Okay," he says indulgently, and Clint feels like he might've said or done something different had it not been his birthday. "Turn over."

Even the tiniest order makes Clint shiver when they're like this, and he rolls over and humps the mattress a little. He expects fingers next, prying him open and sliding in, but Phil shifts and pulls his cheeks apart... and then licks.

"Fuck! Phil!"

"Hmm?" Phil hums back, tongue vibrating against Clint's ass. He holds him there, hands on Clint's hips with his thumbs keeping him open, worming his tongue ever deeper inside. Clint moans into the pillows, at a loss for what else to do, because this is another world of sensation, soft and electric.

 

Something more solid presses in beside the tongue and then another, and it's cold when Phil sits back to watch Clint open up for him. He reaches up and grabs some things out of the box, holding Clint open with maybe three fingers, Clint can't tell. "Hold this," he says, pressing a cold bottle of water into Clint's hand. He unscrews it before taking it out of his grip to wash his mouth out, and Clint turns his torso to one side to watch him try to figure out where to spit. Eventually he decides on a towel which he pulls from somewhere, sticking his tongue out at Clint once he's done. If they were at home, Phil would brush his teeth now, and as impatient as Clint can be, Phil's very particular attention to detail is one of the many reason he loves him.

 

Done with that, he spreads lube all over the place and keeps playing with Clint's ass before giving into Clint's pleas and pushing his cock into him. Clint sighs happily once Phil's draped across his back, kissing his neck and the back of his head softly before beginning to move. He could flip them if he wanted to, Clint's so much stronger than Phil, but it's so perfectly grounding having his weight on top of him, hips moving just enough to slide his cock back and forth. "Phil," he says, reaching one hand back and up to touch Phil's head. "God, Phil."

 

It's slow, which Clint hadn't ever imagined when he'd thought about fucking at work. He'd imagined it to be all frenetic and hushed up, a few minutes of rutting before a choked off orgasm, but this is something else. This is making love, and how fucking cheesy is that? He laughs into the pillow and turns his head, pleased when Phil moves to kiss him. It's a little awkward at this angle but no less tender. "I thought you were gonna fuck me," he mumbles, cause jeez, it's his birthday and he never asked for all these feelings.

"Is that what you want?" Phil asks, honey-dripping and indulgent.

Clint nods and Phil lets him up, brushing hands down Clint's back before rearranging them with Clint on his hands and knees and Phil still buried inside him.

 

Phil's hands are strong on Clint's hips as he fucks him, hard shoves in that feel divine, slow draws back out that feel even better. He curls down around Clint and wraps his arms around him, one hand snaking down over his skin to pull at his cock. Clint gives himself up to it, holding himself as steady as he can while Phil works him over, tugging his cock and brushing over his balls gently even as he pounds into him til they're both shaking and shivering their release.

 

"Oh my god," Phil sighs once they're wiped off and laying beside each other, chests rising and falling in tandem. "Wow."

The warm vanilla glow of the fairy lights softly twinkle around them, and Clint pulls Phil close to press lazy, breathy kisses against his forehead. "Thank you," he says. "I love you so much."

 

"Oh Clint," Phil replies, leaning up to better look into Clint's eyes. "I love you more than you could ever know."

Clint runs his fingers through Phil's hair. "I think I've got a pretty good idea."

  
  



End file.
